A year. It had almost been an entire year since he had rained chaos upon that pathetic Midgardian city. A whisper of a smile graced Loki's lips at the memory, creasing the perfect porcelain of his chiselled face ever so slightly. What was it called again? New York? Not that it mattered, or he cared. Nothing seemed to matter anymore since Odin had thrown him into this cell and condemned him to imprisonment for the rest of his life. His smile quickly faded, his face hardening and his expression turning as dark as the raven hair that tumbled to his shoulders.
Born to be a King. Just another lie in the long list that he had been told. He could have ruled over Midgard and gladly left the Asgardian throne in the foolish hands of his brother – well, adopted brother – Thor, only to watch smugly as the oaf plunged Asgard into ruin one way or another. But no, of course his father didn't approve of that either. And so here he was, rotting away while his brother gallantly strutted around swinging that damned hammer and trying to heal the destruction that had ripped across the nine realms since the Bifrost had been destroyed. Something Loki was sure he was blamed for as well.
He paced the usual circuit across his cell. It was a hilariously pathetic replica of his actual room in the palace but it was still infinitely more luxurious than the other cells in the prison. To be fair it wasn't hard; they contained nothing but cold white walls while he had his bed and somewhere to sit and read the books that Frigga sent him. It was still painfully inadequate for a prince of Asgard, although could he still call himself that knowing the truth of the blood that pulsed through his veins? A humourless laugh fell from his mouth with a sharp exhale of breath only for both to choke in his throat as the sound of a struggle, a woman's protests and then a deafening noise pulled him from his brooding.
It sounded almost like an explosion and was accompanied by bone-shattering tremors that rumbled through the prison, shaking dust from the ceiling and causing the metal goblet and pile of books that had been resting on the nearby table to come crashing to the floor. With a growl of irritation, Loki stalked over to the front of his cell, the fallen objects resuming their original places with a lazy twitch of his right hand. Folding his arms behind his back, he gazed through the shimmering golden wall that prevented him from leaving into the dimly lit corridor of the prison. At first he could see very little but then his green eyes settled on what appeared to be the source of the commotion. One of his dark eyebrows arched questionably at the sight.
Five of Asgard's fully armoured men lay unconscious, sprawled on the ground and against the walls, surrounding another body which appeared to lie in the epicentre of the explosion. It looked to be the body of a woman and she lay face down, a wild sea of copper curls spreading all around her head. More shouts sounded, this time the deep, gruff commands of more guards as they thundered down the steps, presumably responding dutifully to the disruption. Not wanting to seem like he was interested – for despite his imprisonment Loki was determined to ensure that anyone who dared to meet his eyes would only see a cold, jaded indifference at anything that occurred beyond his cell – he grabbed a book from the top of the pile on his table. Settling himself on the floor, he stretched his legs out to their full length, crossing one foot over the other as he reclined against the wall, providing a perfect view of the unconscious guards and the curious woman who lay between them. Loki's long, slender fingers flicked through the pages, settling on some random chapter, his eyes flicking nonchalantly between the words written there and the events that were now occurring in the corridor.
Golden armoured men tended to the wounded whilst others lifted the woman from the ground with extreme care and what seemed like reluctance, almost as if she was indeed a bomb that could detonate at any moment. Tentatively, they began to move, a guard carrying each of her limbs so she remained face down still, her hair a fiery mane that smouldered in the spluttering light of the torches that lined the corridor. They placed her in the first empty cell they could find which, Loki realised with a fleeting spark of annoyance that quickly morphed to perverse pleasure, happened to be the one directly next to his. Being in the corner cell, there was only the one cell attached to his and Loki had presumed it had been deliberately kept empty to spare any occupant from his inevitable antics. Even with his magic intact, he couldn't pass through the iridescent golden walls that acted as the cell's bars, otherwise his imprisonment would have been laughably short. But the wall that separated his cell and the one adjacent? He was certain he wouldn't have any problems with that.
A smirk spread across Loki's thin lips and a glint of well-known mischief blossomed in his eyes.
Finally he'd found himself some new entertainment. And he was going to damn well enjoy it.